


Whisper in the Hallways

by versti_fantur



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Glanni is a school inspector, M/M, Or Is he?, school au, Íþróttaálfurinn has ADHD, Íþróttaálfurinn is a teacher
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23513920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/versti_fantur/pseuds/versti_fantur
Summary: Íþróttaálfurinn's class is interrupted one day by a school inspector, but is the mysterious gentleman all he appears to be?AKA my weird take on a High School AU that isn't really high school since all the kids are there and are of ambiguous ages
Relationships: Glanni Glæpur/Íþróttaálfurinn
Comments: 14
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This weird AU popped into my head and wouldn't let me do anything else until I'd written it, so here ya go!

“And in here is Mr Álfurinn’s maths class.” Headmaster Meanswell pushed open the door, drawing the attention of the yellow-clad teacher away from the quadratic formula he was writing neatly on the blackboard.

“Ah, Mr Meanswell, how can I help?” He said with a smile, bouncing on the balls of his feet as the headmaster walked into the room, followed by a tall man who Íþróttaálfurinn was absolutely certain did not work here, because he _certainly_ would’ve remembered if he did; the man was all sharp lines and angles, his black three piece suit emphasising the trim lines of his waist, the only hint of colour about him the magenta tie around his neck. The sight of him made Íþróttaálfurinn stop mid-bounce, and he immediately felt under-dressed in his pale yellow shirt and beige slacks.

“This is Mr Riki, the school inspector!” The headmaster cheerfully replied, oblivious to Íþróttaálfurinn’s sudden self-consciousness. “He’ll be sitting in for the rest of your lesson, if that’s alright?”

It most definitely wasn’t alright, but Íþróttaálfurinn would be professional about it. At least he didn’t have the third years this period; as much as he loved their energy, they were often… _too excitable_ to concentrate, and he didn’t want to seem incompetent in front of the rather intimidating inspector.

“Of course!” He mustered up a smile, “There’s a seat at the back if you-” he trailed off as Mr Riki ignored him and sat down at Íþróttaálfurinn’s own desk, crossing his legs and setting down a large notepad and fountain pen, apparently making himself quite comfortable. 

“I’ll be off then,” the headmaster interrupted Íþróttaálfurinn’s indignant thoughts, humming to himself as he scurried away, the squeak of his shoes echoing down the empty corridor. 

“Where were we?” Íþróttaálfurinn addressed his class now, “Right, solving quadratics using the quadratic formula.” The lesson continued mostly as normal, Íþróttaálfurinn’s usual enthusiasm only slightly dimmed from Mr Riki's cold, unblinking stare that never once left him; even when that fountain pen scratched its way across the paper, Íþróttaálfurinn could still turn towards him and find those eyes trained on nothing but him. If the inspector was trying to unnerve him, it was certainly working. 

“Does anyone have any questions?” He asked after demonstrating how to solve one particularly difficult equation, as he handed out a worksheet, and the children shook their heads. From the corner of his eye, though, he saw one slender, pale hand at the front of the room rise into the air. Part of him wanted to turn further away, and pretend he hadn’t noticed it, but that would only irritate the inspector and Íþróttaálfurinn rather wanted to keep his job, so he begrudgingly straightened up. “Yes?”

“Mr Álfurinn,” Íþróttaálfurinn wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but that voice certainly wasn’t it—low and husky, and pronouncing his name in a way that most couldn’t achieve. He mustn’t be from around here, he theorised, since his accent seemed similar to Íþróttaálfurinn’s own. “Do you always make a habit of bouncing around your classroom like it’s some sort of playground?” 

A scattering of giggles circulated the room, but before Íþróttaálfurinn could respond, one of the students piped up, “Does it matter? Cuz it doesn’t bother any of us, and it just shows he’s excited about the topic!” 

“That’s enough Stephanie, I can answer for myself,” He turned to the pink haired girl who had spoken, and shot her a grateful smile just out of Mr Riki's sight, “Get back to work now.” She nodded and looked back at her paper, but Íþróttaálfurinn caught her glancing up every few seconds to watch what would happen. The inspector was writing again, but Íþróttaálfurinn spoke regardless, “Mr Rki, I’m happy to discuss that with you after class, if that’s okay.”

Mr Riki tilted his head to the side and gave a noncommittal hum, leaving Íþróttaálfurinn with a lingering sense of unease even though he knew he hadn’t done anything wrong. Reaching for a pen in his shirt pocket, he spun it around his thumb as another hand shot up across the classroom.

“Mr Álfurinn! Did I do this right?” The excitable voice cried before Íþróttaálfurinn had even reached him, and thrust the worksheet into his hand. Eyes quickly flicking over the scribbled answers, Íþróttaálfurinn ticked them, circling the second to last one.

“Almost! You’ve just mixed up the signs, see? This should be -6, not 6, but well done Ziggy,” He handed back the worksheet with a warm smile, and Ziggy beamed. “I’ll get you the next sheet since you did this one so fast.”

“And I’ll do this one totally right, I promise!” Ziggy grinned, and Íþróttaálfurinn chuckled, grabbing another worksheet from his desk and giving it to Ziggy, ignoring the inspector’s gaze on him as he neared the desk. It was just as cold as before, but now he noticed that his eyes were grey. Íþróttaálfurinn supposed they suited him, just as much of a mystery as the rest of the man.

It wasn’t long until the bell rang, signalling the end of the lesson and the beginning of Íþróttaálfurinn’s free period. The kids handed him their worksheets as they left the room, chatting eagerly amongst themselves, only stopping briefly to say bye before disappearing into the hallways. Soon, only Íþróttaálfurinn and Mr Riki remained in the classroom, and Íþróttaálfurinn dearly wished he had another class next, or at least somewhere else to be, since Mr Riki gave no indication of leaving. Instead, his gaze seemed even more intense than it had been previously. 

“Well?” Mr Riki asked expectantly, the end of his pen lingering between his lips. Here goes nothing, Íþróttaálfurinn thought.

“I have ADHD, so I struggle to stay still for long periods of time. The bouncing helps with it, in a way that isn’t distracting for the kids,” Íþróttaálfurinn’s tone was steady, but his heart hammered in his chest as he imagined what the inspector would say next.

“That explains the pen flipping too then.” Mr Riki's face had, well it hadn’t _softened_ but it was something in that vague direction. 

“Yes,” Íþróttaálfurinn nodded hesitantly, he hadn’t realised how perceptive the inspector was—not many people tended to notice that at first. “Was there anything else you wanted to discuss, Mr Riki-”

“Rikki, please,” the inspector held out his hand, and Íþróttaálfurinn took it, slightly surprised by the strength of his grip as they shook hands.

“Uh, Íþrótt,” he replied, and a ghost of a smile appeared on Rikki's lips before vanishing again.

“Well, Mr Íþrótt Álfurinn that’s all the questions I had, so I’ll see you around,” Rikki let go of Íþróttaálfurinn’s hand and stood, making the height difference between them quite apparent. Íþróttaálfurinn’s gaze momentarily dropped to the floor as he stepped backwards, and- Wait. Was Rikki wearing _heels_? The black platform boots added another three or four inches to Rikki's already considerable height, and although Íþróttaálfurinn wasn’t short by any means, he certainly felt it next to the inspector.

Apparently reading Íþróttaálfurinn’s mind, or maybe just making an assumption based on his expression, Rikki flashed him a wolfish smile as he picked up his notebook and pen, before striding out of the room without saying another word. Íþróttaálfurinn stared at the door for a full minute after he’d left, unsure of what to make of the whole interaction. Somehow Rikki had managed to both intimidate and intrigue him, and although he’d tried to embarrass Íþróttaálfurinn in front of the kids (intentionally or not), he’d been understanding when he’d explained it, which was more than Íþróttaálfurinn could say for most people.

Shaking his head, Íþróttaálfurinn sat down at his desk and pushed all thoughts of him to the side; he had lessons to plan and work to mark, so dwelling on the mysterious inspector wouldn’t help with anything. Opening the textbook he planned to use questions from next period, he unlocked the desk drawer, searching through it until he found his red biro, and immediately lost interest in anything other than the maths problems in front of him. He could debate Rikki's intentions later, but now he was going to do his job.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp I wrote more of the AU that no one wanted (Except someone actually wanted me to write more so I can't call it that anymore xD)

Íþróttaálfurinn disliked having to keep kids back after lessons ended, especially during lunch, but sometimes it was necessary. He marked down the names of those who’d forgotten their homework quickly, and sent them on their way—most he was sure had only misplaced it, only one of them, Trixie, was likely to have deliberately ignored it. It was a shame really, she was so bright she’d do really well if only she applied herself. Sighing, and making a mental note to talk to her about it again, he picked up his things and walked out, locking the door behind him as he made his way to the staffroom. However, as he arrived, he realised his lateness meant his usual spot by the window was already occupied by a group of geography teachers having a discussion on the formation of oxbow lakes. A little annoyed, he took a different chair in the corner of the room, setting his lunch down on the wobbly table. No wonder no one sat here. 

He took out an apple and bit down thoughtfully; his mind kept wandering back to earlier that morning, to Rikki's abrasiveness, but also his understanding. To that suit and _those heels_. He perplexed him, and was unlike any of the other school inspectors Íþróttaálfurinn had met before, who were usually far friendlier and courteous, _and didn’t make themselves at home at Íþróttaálfurinn’s desk._ Maybe he was just from a different assessment board? So distracted was he that he didn’t notice someone sliding into the seat opposite him until their milkshake appeared right under his nose. Blinking, he looked up, directly into the same grey eyes that had watched him so intently earlier.

“We meet again, Mr Álfurinn,” Rikki drawled, and Íþróttaálfurinn’s brain clicked back into action. Were they using formalities again now? Or had Rikki just forgotten his name? He wouldn’t be the first.

“Mr Riki,” he gave an awkward smile, “How can I help you?” For a moment Rikki didn’t respond, just kept watching him, but then reached into his bag for a sheet of paper and slid it across the table towards Íþróttaálfurinn.

“I’ve been asking all the staff to fill in this questionnaire,” he paused, taking a long sip of his milkshake, “To help with my report.” Íþróttaálfurinn looked down at the questions, they seemed simple enough.

“No problem,” he replied, and Rikki smiled that same wolfish smile again, standing up and grabbing his milkshake before sauntering off to someone else. Twirling his mustache with one hand, he took out his pen and began to answer the questions with the other. Most were fairly typical: ‘Are you satisfied with your job?’ ‘Do you have all the resources necessary to teach?’ But a few seemed… strange. Not necessarily alarmingly weird, but enough to cause Íþróttaálfurinn to double take: ‘What is your opinion on the school being named after a prolific slave owner?’ Was it? He wasn’t from around here but he thought he knew the local history well enough, but apparently not. Frowning, he wrote a vague answer, and was soon finished. Glancing briefly around the room, it appeared that Rikki had already left, and many of his colleagues were filling in the same questionnaire. Leaving his own paper with Mr Rotten, the textiles teacher, he jogged out of the room to prepare for his next lesson.

“Mr Álfurinn!” A shrill voice cried out from behind him in the corridor, and Íþróttaálfurinn turned to see Ms Busybody’s head popping out of her office, her blue hair pinned into its usual extravagant updo, and a phone held to her shoulder as she beckoned him to join her. As the headmaster’s secretary she was perpetually busy, and seemed to be the one single-handedly running the whole school, yet always invited Íþróttaálfurinn in for a friendly chat whenever the opportunity arose. He smiled warmly and followed her into her office. “Would you like some tea, my dear? Do you like camomile? Or I have lemon? One of my friends went on a tea cleanse you see, but it didn’t agree with her so she gave me these teabags and I simply don’t know what to do with them all!”

“Lemon is fine, thanks,” he sat down opposite her desk as she set the phone down in its cradle and flicked the switch on the kettle, still chattering about her friend’s experience with the teas. Íþróttaálfurinn must have zoned out at some point, glancing at the trees outside the window and the sparrows currently nesting there. From his seat he couldn’t see how many chicks were in the nest, but he could hear them, at least, through the open window.

“-But then this morning when I arrived, there he was! Oh, here you go dear.” She handed him a teacup, and Íþróttaálfurinn immediately snapped his attention back to what she was saying.

“Sorry, what?” He asked, having missed the beginning of her sentence, “Uh, and thank you,”

“The inspector! According to my planner we weren’t supposed to have an inspection for another two or three months, but he showed up this morning and when I asked him why he was so early, he said must have been an error! In my planner! How ridiculous!” She huffed as she sat down, her own cup of honeyed camomile tea clasped between her neatly manicured hands. “It’s causing _all sorts_ of havoc for me, I had to rearrange the headmaster’s entire schedule, the governors were furious that the budget meeting’s been postponed for _another_ week, and I’ve been running ragged ensuring everything is as it should be!”

Íþróttaálfurinn chuckled at Ms Busybody’s annoyance, “Relax, I’m sure everything will be fine.” He sipped his tea, “We’re a good school with great kids, what could he possibly find fault with?”

“Relax?!” She stared at him like he’d suggested serving the inspector deep fried fish eyes, “I’ll have time for relaxing when I’m retired but for now-” she broke off as the phone rang, “Good afternoon, you’ve reached Headmaster Meanswell’s office, how may I help? Oh, Mrs Stímalína, how great to hear from you- Yes I’m _sorry_ we had to cancel the meeting to discuss your son’s suspension, I-.” She rolled her eyes dramatically, mouthing ‘this will take a while’ to Íþróttaálfurinn, and motioned for him to leave. He nodded, whispering a thank you for the tea as he shut the door behind him.

He was halfway back to his own classroom when he realised he still had the teacup—he contemplated returning it, but Ms Busybody likely wouldn’t want to be disturbed, so he took it with him. As he opened his classroom though, he almost slipped on a piece of paper that had been pushed under the door, and he frowned as he picked it up, unfolding it as he walked to his desk. 

_Meet me at the gates at 4pm. Don’t be late._

It was probably one of the kids playing a prank, since it was unsigned, and he shook his head, chuckling a little to himself. Kids these days with their practical jokes, right? He shoved it into his pocket as the bell rang, jumping over a table to the back of the room to retrieve the textbooks he needed, and setting them out on the tables as the kids began to file into the room. The note still lingered in the back of his head, though, despite his efforts to concentrate on teaching properly. For some reason he felt the need to discover who the author was. Maybe he’d drop by at 4pm, just to find out. Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be more! (probably)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lets pretend Glanni's been called Rikki Riki since the start and I didn't just change it because I wrote myself into a plothole oops (And yes theyre the same person Rikki is Glanni's alias here is that a spoiler? idk tbh I'm tired)

At exactly 3:57pm, Íþróttaálfurinn left the school building, unlocking his car and sliding into the driver’s seat with a sigh. He glanced around for anyone who could possibly be the letter writer, but the area seemed empty, save for a few cars remaining in the carpark. A few drops of rain began to fall on the windscreen as he watched the gate. It was probably just a prank from the kids, right? But as the minutes edged closer to 4:00, and there was no sight of anyone waiting around to jump out and scare him, doubt crept into the corners of his mind. He should just go home and forget about it, and several times he moved to turn the keys in the ignition, but every time he did so, he hesitated and his hand would fall back to his side. 

A few minutes more and he couldn’t wait any longer, so he opened the door, and jogged over to the gate, listening out for the tell-tale giggling of kids, that would indicate the nature of the strange meeting. But there were none. Instead, the rain was slowly soaking through his shirt, and an involuntary shiver went through him. He looked back to where his car sat miserably, almost appearing sad with the rain running over its dull yellow paint, and realised he should probably have brought his jacket. Or an umbrella. Or both. He’d wait another minute, he decided, and if no one showed up he’d leave. But then a dark shadow appeared above him.

“Are you waiting for someone, or do you often just stand outside in the rain?” A low voice purred from behind him, and Íþróttaálfurinn spun round, finding himself standing under a large black umbrella, face to face with the inspector.

“I- uh, I was waiting for someone but I think they stood me up,” And immediately he felt small again, Rikki’s- no, _Mr Riki’s_ height seeming even more imposing with the umbrella above him. “They left a note, but it must have been some kids messing about,” Wait, why had he said that to the _school inspector_ of all people? Though Rikki didn’t seem to care, his lips twitching into a smile. Íþróttaálfurinn dug around in his pocket and handed over the letter for him to read, his eyes flitting quickly over the single line of text. 

Rikki hummed. “Of course,” he said as he gave the letter back, his hand barely grazing Íþróttaálfurinn’s as he did so. Íþróttaálfurinn’s cheeks flushed at the contact, and he averted his gaze as to not make it obvious. But he wouldn’t be surprised if Rikki had noticed. “But what if it was someone else? An admirer perhaps?” Íþróttaálfurinn snapped back to attention, caught off guard by Rikki’s words.

“What?”

“Don’t act so surprised, you’re an attractive man, Íþrótt. Maybe someone here likes you?” Rikki’s tone was nonchalant, but it still caused Íþróttaálfurinn’s blush to darken. Sure he knew he was physically fit, but it had been a while since anyone had called him attractive, at least to his face. 

“Oh, thank you? But no, I don’t think so,” he replied, a tad shaken. 

“I’ll leave you then,” Rikki said, “And tell me if that secret admirer ever does appear.” He could’ve sworn Rikki winked at him, but he bushed it off as an overactive imagination. “Later, Íþrótt,” And with that, Rikki turned and left, quickly disappearing in the direction of a sleek black Mercedes, and leaving Íþróttaálfurinn alone again, mildly confused, and uncomfortably aware of the rain falling once more upon him. 

One more glance around the empty area and he gave up, jogging back to his car and slamming the door behind him. He could think through what had just happened later, right now he just wanted to get home.

\----

It had been several days since what Íþróttaálfurinn had begun to refer to as ‘the incident’, and he hadn’t seen Rikki since. Not that he’d been looking for him. But neither had any of the other teachers he’d casually mentioned it to. 

“He walked into my classroom on the first day, scared my kids, and left,” Ms Splitz said, reaching for the chocolate biscuits as they sat in the staff room early in the morning, waiting for a meeting. “Poor Siggi nearly cried afterwards.”

“Apparently he never even collected in those questionnaires from Bessie that he made us do,” Miss Hrekjusvín added, snatching the biscuit tin away. “I thought he was a bit of a dick to be honest.”

“ _Halla_ ,” Ms Splitz sighed, exasperated, and Íþróttaálfurinn couldn’t help but laugh. Their conversation was cut short however, by the arrival of Headmaster Meanswell, who bustled through the door with a handful of papers.

“Good morning everyone! I’m afraid I have some _bad news_ ,” he looked down at his shoes, “I had the results of the inspection and they were… not very good. In fact, we barely managed to pass at all.” Confused whispers rippled through the room, with some being far more vocal than others about their displeasure.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Miss Hrekjusvín stood up, clearly angry, “We’re much better than half the other schools in the area so what’s his deal?”

“Well I- um, uh” the headmaster stumbled over his words, until the door opened again with a bang, and all the eyes in the room turned towards the figure now stood there.

“Kindly calm down, Miss Hrekjusvín. Your school may be lacking in almost all areas, but out of my own generosity and kindness, I have decided to stay here and help you improve. Of course you can always refuse my help, but then the fate of your precious school will be one of nothing but failure. It’s your choice, Miss Hrekjusvín.” Íþróttaálfurinn could barely concentrate on what was happening. Rikki was back. Rikki was _staying_. Rikki was… currently walking over to him, with that wolfish smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Why was he immediately so drawn to his lips? _Oh no,_ Íþróttaálfurinn realised, _this wasn’t going to end well._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/kudos give me life!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/kudos give me life :D  
> Title from Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince by Taylor Swift


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